Orbiters

Monkey Wrench

I rarely pull the Writer Gun out of its holster. But I did the other day, while playing golf.

After an especially bad shot my pal said, why don’t you play more golf? I told him I’m too busy writing novels. He chuckled and shook his head. It made no sense to him. And at the time, not a whole lot to me.

And that, gang, is why I rarely pull the Writer Gun out of its holster.

“Oops…”

Spaceship One, cruising in high orbit, deployed the latest onboard comforts. Lighting simulated the sun traversing a blue sky. Evening arrived with a silver glow, pure silver, fading to black along the horizon. At night stars spread across the heavens.

With a simulated morning robins and doves greeted Megan Bremer, along with a rooster and the creaking of barnwood. Technology brought infinite delights. Megan yawned and opened a false window. A breeze, lilac-tinged, rustled curtains. The Moon, or at least the Moon under the domes, was just like May on Earth. Only the sky remained black.

She turned a knob and the wind stopped. The silence was like a gunshot.

Blinking, her roommate propped herself up on one elbow. “What? We have to get up?”

“You do,” Megan said. “Morning, scout.”

“Good morning.”

Megan pushed a button and a sliding panel revealed two coffees, piping hot. “Your coffee is ready,” she said. “Nishina Crater, Special Blend, medium light, one cream.”

“Someone’s feeling chipper this morning.” Jennifer said. She swung her feet down. Her pajamas featured moons and rockets.

“Of course,” Megan said. One never expressed anything other than the most robust optimism. It was the Malthusian way.

“It’s a nice day,” Jennifer said.

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s always nice.”

Meagan said nothing. She sipped her coffee and looked out the window. Cows, or very convincing facsimiles, grazed on green hills. She turned the screen off and brought Jennifer her cup.

“But it’s not like Earth.”

“No.”

“Of course, on Earth you smell manure.”

“On Earth you smell a lot of things.” Megan could speak from experience. She turned on the radio, beamed from home. K-MOON, the only station. An enthusiastic woman announced the weather, the economic forecast, the activities of the citizens. In order these were sunny, rising, and peaceful.

“Things are going well on the Moon,” Jennifer said.

“They always do.” Megan began to dress. It couldn’t be simpler. She removed her one piece pajamas and put on a one piece uniform. She didn’t even have to shower. An ionizer, detecting movement, silently bathed her body.

Jennifer watched her friend’s slouching, automatic movements. She saw what was wrong. She knew from television that on Earth things seldom go right. People get fired, money is stolen. There are lies, affairs, failures in communication large and small. It was tragic, but also funny. Earth might be a mess, but it was never boring.

Jennifer watched Megan staring listlessly at her desk, where both their reports lay prepared and ready for the morning’s staff meeting. She walked over, paused, then tipped coffee on the pages.

“Jennifer!” Megan said. “What are you doing?”

“Oops.”

Megan grabbed tissues and blotted. “We’ll have to re-type these.”

“Or,” Jennifer said. “We can turn them in, as is.”

“But Mr. Kern will be furious.”

“Yes he will.” Tate looked around the room. She pulled the covers from her bed and overturned a wastebasket. Then poured the rest of her cup on the floor.

“Jennifer!” It was expected cabins were to be ship-shape at all times. It took a moment, but Megan realized her roommate was smiling. She smiled too. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“I certainly hope so.” She zipped her uniform and grabbed the stained reports. “Let’s go,” she said, offering her arm. “Maybe that maintenance officer who was so snotty the other night is at breakfast. Something tells me he will have to change his uniform.”

The women walked out. Megan, at least for the time being, felt much, much better.